


It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Nuclear Winter

by Majure



Series: Vera verse [6]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Gen, Jewish Character, Religion, Religious Introspection, hancock and maccready really are a girls best friend, they include that one chapel in diamond city and that always interested me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28484586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majure/pseuds/Majure
Summary: Vera's first Christmas holiday out in the wasteland since coming out of vault 111 isn't exactly a happy one. Still struggling with learning how to survive, memories of her last holiday with her family keep reminding her of everything she's lost. At least she doesn't have to make it through alone.
Relationships: John Hancock & Female Sole Survivor, John Hancock & Robert Joseph MacCready, Robert Joseph MacCready & Female Sole Survivor
Series: Vera verse [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1210188
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Nuclear Winter

**Author's Note:**

> i've been trying to get this stupid thing out for 2 years so i finally decided to fuck it and just make it a multi-chap fic. no clue when it's going to be finished, but i have the majority of it plotted out so hopefully not too long!
> 
> for clarification about the jewish character tag - vera is jewish through her father's side, though is non practicing and agnostic and it will come up later in the fic. i myself am not jewish. this fic deals a lot with religion and introspection and im going to handle it the best way i can. please let me know if i can do something better!

December 23rd, 2287

There's a lot to hate about post war Boston. There's a lot to hate about the idea of a _post war_ in general, but Vera's never had the guts to venture beyond the city, so she's just had to learn to hate the Commonwealth itself. North Boston was alright, though, if she had to choose. The tall buildings and narrow streets provided ample vantage points for her and MacCready to snipe from, and there was plenty of cover on the ground for Hancock and Dogmeat to travel safely. MacCready's rough, impatient tutelage over the past few months had turned her into an alright sniper. Vera found she preferred her mediocrity _far_ more than Hancock's rough-and-tumble outright brawls. Some might call it cowardice. Vera called it common sense. 

Sitting up in a nest, every foot away from the killing making her hands shake a little less, Vera could at least pretend she wasn't taking someone's life. MacCready's and Hancock's approach to killing was... crass, to say the least. She understood the rule of the Commonwealth was 'shoot first, ask questions later, and take whatever isn't nailed down', but she cringed every time Hancock rifled through a fresh corpse's pockets. Stealing from dead men just turned her stomach. Vera had never pretended to be on a high horse, but at least she had _some_ reverence for the lives she was taking. 

Though despite all the death, murder and violence, Vera would be lying if she said the thing she didn't hate the most right now was that it never snowed. 

The Commonwealth gets _bitterly_ cold. The river running through the downtown area has been frozen since September and the mornings still coat the ground in frost so thick that MacCready's paranoia keeps them from moving out of their camp until the frost has melted. The rain turns to sleet most nights - sheets of half frozen rain soaking through their clothes and their boots. Even through layers of heavy wool socks, Vera's toes still get so cold she can't feel them in her boots. There are never enough layers in the Commonwealth. 

Vera's always hated the cold, but if she's going to suffer, it might as well look _nice._ She'd always liked the snow - liked, December, really, especially once she'd moved to America. Though she'd never celebrated Christmas, she'd always loved the way Christmas lights glittered on the snow and the way the world turned all soft. Muted. The way the sky turned dove grey and everything in the world felt calm.

Serenity is hard to come by in the Commonwealth. It's something Vera's been looking for for months. Now, in the dead of December when the whole world seems to hold it's breath and freeze, it's vanished. 

Sighing, the toe of Vera's boot connects with a soup can lying abandoned on the side of the street. it goes skittering down the cracked asphalt, bouncing off a lane divider, and MacCready shoots her a dirty look over his shoulder. He gestures to the buildings rising above them into the darkening sky. "Can you stop giving away our position?" 

"Sorry," Vera says. Their breath steams in the evening air. Her fingers tighten around the stock of her rifle as they walk. She kicks the can again. Dogmeat goes bounding after it, bounding back and dropping it at her feet, tail wagging. Vera rubs his ears. 

Hancock glances back at her from the front of their little caravan. "What's got you so pissed, anyway?" he asks. "You've been in a mood for a week." 

"Have not!" Vera denies, quieting when Mac jabs her in the ribs. She yanks on the brim of his hat, hurrying a few paces ahead as his undignified squawk echoes off the empty buildings on either side of them. 

Hancock gives her a look that would've been skeptical if he'd had any eyebrows to raise. Vera sighs. "It's stupid anyway."

Hancock hums a little. He crosses his hands behind his head, watching as MacCready pulls ahead of them by a few paces. "You don't have to say anything you don't want to," he says, lowering his voice. "But you should know by now that we're not going to judge you for anything." 

He isn't wrong, and Vera knows it, but it doesn't make the twist in her stomach lessen at all. He and MacCready know about the vault - about pre-war, though Vera hadn't really told them because she'd wanted to. It had been only a few days after she'd started traveling with the two of them when they'd made camp in an old house just north of the city proper. Vera had been scrounging the house for firewood and burnables when she'd come across a faded wedding picture of the old inhabitants of the house. She'd broken down out of nowhere, tearfully confessing her origins to a bewildered MacCready and Hancock. 

MacCready had been reluctant to believe her at first, but he'd come around after Vera produced little mementos of her pre-war life, like her driver's license and a picture of her family Codsworth had managed to salvage from the wreckage of her old home. He and Hancock had been gentle with her since then, showing her kindness that Vera had tried to make herself forget. It was more than she ever could've asked for, though sometimes she felt that their kindness bordered on pity. That grated on her sometimes, made her reluctant to share more about her pre-war life than she already had. 

Sighing, Vera rubs her arms through her coat. "Just last year," she says quietly. "Last year I was with Nate and my in-laws in their cabin in Virginia. I remember watching the snow with them. I miss it." 

"You miss the snow?" Hancock asks, sounding almost incredulous. 

"I told you it was stupid." 

Hancock huffs a little laugh, but doesn't disagree with her. MacCready is still a few paces ahead, but he pauses to let them catch up. Dogmeat sniffs the road up ahead. "It's cold enough as it is," MacCready says. "Now you want to add frozen water to the mix?" 

"A little damp isn't going to kill you," Vera says with a little smile. "It might even do you some good." 

Mac rolls his eyes. "Oh, sure. Not like we don't have winter gear or anything." 

"Always wanted to see snow," Hancock says, ignoring their banter. "Always wanted to throw it at someone." 

"Snowball fights," Vera says wistfully. 

"Pneumonia," MacCready mutters. Shouldering his rifle, he says, "Listen, it's freezing and all this talk of snow is making me colder. We should stop for the night." 

"Might as well," Vera agrees. "I don't want Dogmeat's paws to crack." 

Whistling to Dogmeat, MacCready calls, "Come on. Let's go find a place to sleep." The two of them set out down the road, sticking to the shadows of the buildings. Hancock and Vera follow a little bit behind, a little less concerned. Ghouls tend to run warmer and the cold doesn't bother Vera as much as it had before leaving the vault. It isn't much later then seven, but it's already dark. The sky is overcast, hiding the stars behind a layer of thick clouds, but it doesn't look like rain. Vera doesn't want to risk turning on her PipBoy light and broadcast their location.

Hancock eyes her as they walk. "You really doing alright?" 

"I'll be fine," Vera says automatically. Hancock gives her that skeptical look again. She winces. "Eventually," she sighs. "Just memories I guess. This time is supposed to be about peace on earth, you know?." Hancock snorts a laugh. Vera has to agree. 

Truth is, she's been feeling hopeless for months. Life in the Commonwealth was just a series of motions, all focused on staying _alive_. There's little room for enjoyment. First Vera has to deal with the general end of the world; now she has to deal with seasonal depression thrown in the mix. The distant rattle of gunfire echoes through the remains of Boston, a bookend to Vera's yawning despair.

Beside her, Hancock says, "Yeah, goodwill ain't exactly in the Commonwealth vocabulary anymore." At the despondent look on Vera's face, he claps her on the shoulder. "Who needs that when you've got us, right?" 

"Yeah," Vera says, mustering a smile. 

Hancock's grin wavers. He stops in the street, catching Vera by the sleeve of her coat. Ahead of them, MacCready and Dogmeat turn a corner and disappear into the winter air. "Listen," Hancock says, motioning her closer so he can wrap an arm around her neck and pull her into a hug. Vera clings to his coat, suddenly overwhelmed. "I ain't good at this comforting thing," he rasps softly. "But you know you do have us, right?" 

Vera is silent for a moment. She shuts her eyes, turning her face into the collar of Hancock's coat. "Right," she murmurs. "I know." 

In front of them, MacCready reappears. Hancock releases her and Vera straightens, ducking her head. "There's an old office building up ahead," MacCready calls. "It looks empty. We can set up camp there." 

Vera forges forwards, grateful for the darkness for hiding her red eyes. "Did I ruin a moment?" MacCready asks as she passes. Vera punches his arm.

This building is indeed empty. Though the upper floors have all caved in, all the ground floor entrances had been barricaded. In order to actually get in, Hancock and MacCready have to break in through a boarded up door in the back while Vera keeps anxious watch. Never a good sign, but all of them are cold and desperate. 

It isn't any warmer inside the building than it was outside - there are too many holes in the walls - but it feels good to get out from under the weight of the darkening sky. Vera pointedly ignores the skeletons draped across much of the furniture. Dogmeat doesn't seem too concerned with enemies, so the three of them board up the door as best they can before heading up the concrete stairwell to the next few levels. 

It's dark inside the office building. Things seem mostly untouched, so Vera relaxes a little, lowering her rifle and clicking the light on in her PipBoy. They set up in a large, oval shaped conference room. The big table in the center has been tipped onto its side, so they shove it towards the door and drop their things behind it to make a little wall. All three of them will sleep better without a door at their backs. 

Leaving her rifle and her bag, Vera goes digging for fuel for a fire while MacCready and Hancock dig through their meagre rations to make dinner. PipBoy light flashing, Vera wanders the empty halls of the building with Dogmeat at her side. Sickly green light washes over the floors and peeling wallpaper, casting long shadows across much of the empty building.

She makes her way into a cubicle block and begins rifling through the old filing cabinets for sheaves of paper to burn. As Vera dug around in the office, breaking legs off chairs and ruining what had probably been months of hard work for long dead pencil pushers, Dogmeat stands with his ears pricked, staring into the darkness.

She's so preoccupied with her task that she doesn't even notice the energy in the room until Dogmeat woofs softly. Vera looks up, eyes widening as the lurching form of a feral ghoul stands up, a dark silhouette against the green light of her PipBoy. She ducks behind the cubicle wall just as it's head swivels in her direction. Heart hammering, Vera clicks the light on her PipBoy off. The sudden darkness is oppressive. The ghoul grunts behind her, shuffling through the darkness only a few paces away. 

Dogmeat crouches beside Vera, his hackles raised and growling slightly. Pressing a finger to her lips, Vera points towards the ghoul with her other hand. Dogmeat snorts softly, slipping off into the darkness. Vera doesn't dare watch him. She doesn't trust herself with her little 10 mil; with the way she freezes up, she'll probably just end up getting hurt. 

It's a tense few moments before she hears the ghoul hit the floor. It's bones crunched under Dogmeat's jaws; air wheezes out of it's lungs one last time. A moment later, Dogmeat appears with a bloody muzzle and a wagging tail. Vera reaches out to scratch his ears, heart still hammering against her ribs. He laps at her hand, streaking blood across her skin. Vera grimaces, scrubbing it off on the hem of her coat. 

Standing, Vera makes her way over to the corpse. She leaves the light off this time - where there's one, there's more, and they don't need to get swarmed by ghouls. There's not much in his threadbare pockets, so she leaves the body lying where it is. Something catches her eye as she moves away. Light from a broken window glints across the dusty, aged surface of a picture frame sitting on the desk the feral had been sleeping under.

Vera steps over the corpse, picking up the picture. She scrubs at centuries worth of accumulated grime with the cuff of her coat, tracing a thumb across the glass over the face of the man in the picture. It looks like a family photo - a smiling man holding a smiling woman, two grinning blonde kids in front. Vera looks down at the body. 

"Was this you?" she whispers. Dogmeat lifts his head.

Vera jumps as someone knocks on a cubicle wall behind her. Hancock is standing at the end of the hallway, watching her. "You got some stuff to burn?" he asks, picking his way through the room. "It's dark as hell in here."

Vera flicks on her light. Hancock blinks. "There was a feral," she says. "Thought there might be more." 

Leaning over her shoulder, Hancock stares down at the body. "Anything good?" 

"No."

He sighs. "Mac and I couldn't really scrounge anything up to eat. You at least got any firewood?" 

Vera gestures to the bag she'd left lying by the cubicles. "Firewood, some paper." 

Hancock glances down at the picture frame in her hand. "We can burn that too," he says, moving away to heft her pack over one shoulder. "Come on. Mac's freezing in there."

Vera casts one last look at the body before she too abandons it. Dogmeat continues sniffing around the office block. Vera's not too worried; he'll come back when he wants. Hancock is already getting to work in their impromptu camp. He'd piled a trash can full of wadded up paper and broken table legs and is sparking his lighter underneath a scrap of paper. When it catches, he drops it into the trash can. 

Vera settles next to the fire, pulling off her threadbare gloves and flexing cold fingers by the fire. Her stomach growls. "What are we going to do about food?" she asks. "We're miles away from any settlement." 

"Should be some radstag up north," Mac says. He pulls out his flask, taking a pull before passing it to Vera. The alcohol is bitter and cloying, but it warms her chest and helps kill the twisting in her stomach. She passes it off to Hancock. "Maybe molerats and mongrels down here in the city." 

Dogmeat comes trotting through the door, a mouse dangling from his jaws. He settles down next to Vera, happily crunching into his little meal. "At least someone gets dinner," she sighs. MacCready hums. He pulls his knees up to his chest, arms resting across his legs. Vera leans to the side, resting her head on his shoulder. He rests a hand on her head. 

"Goodnight," Vera murmurs.

**Author's Note:**

> did you think i could write a fic featuring hancock and NOT profess my undying love for him via prose? he's my good bitch and its ALWAYS hancock loving hours in this house
> 
> come visit me on tumblr at fanthings!


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